


By Any Other Name

by Isanes



Category: due South
Genre: Gen, a wee bit cracky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 00:21:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6447931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isanes/pseuds/Isanes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How did Turnbull end up working for the Canadian mob, anyway?</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Any Other Name

It was with a faint sense of curiosity that Benton Fraser knocked on the door. It was opened after a moment and he was ushered into the familiar, spartan apartment. Spartan, of course, since its occupant was moving out the following day.

Wandering into the small kitchen he hoisted the bottle in his hand. "I brought wine."

Renfield Turnbull looked at him hopefully. "I don't suppose you brought a corkscrew, too? Mine's in a box somewhere."

Fraser smiled and produced one from his pocket. "I had a feeling."

"Bless you," said Turnbull and, within moments, the bottle in Fraser's hand had been replaced with a generously filled tumbler. The wine glasses had apparently been packed, too.

He watched Turnbull putter around the stove for a moment, sipping the wine. "Not that I'm complaining, but why are you cooking this fine repast for me and not Emily?"

Turnbull stirred the sauce and smiled ruefully. "There is no Emily. Emily is no more. This fine repast is in memory of the dearly departed Emily."

"Dearly departed?"

"She took off for Toronto this morning with her ex-boyfriend."

"Ouch."

Turnbull shrugged. "C'est la vie. Anyway, this is the last of my food and it's got to be eaten by tomorrow."

"I should have brought Diefenbaker."

"You can take him the leftovers."

Though, between the delicious aromas wafting from the kitchen and the appetite of two full-grown Mounties, it didn't look as if there would be much left to take home to the wolf.

When they'd eaten their fill and cleared the plates, they brought the bottle of wine back to the table with them.

"To the Queen," said Turnbull, lifting his glass with a wry smile. Fraser saluted back and drank deeply.

"Speaking of which," added Turnbull wickedly, "how's Steve?"

Fraser nearly avoided choking on his wine. "Gone the way of Emily, I'm afraid."

"Ran off with an old boyfriend?"

"No," said Fraser. "With a new one. The bartender down at the Midnight Oil."

"Geez, Ben, that sucks."

"It was going to have to end soon, anyway," said Fraser. "He wasn't interested in moving to Chicago with me."

"So you're going back, then?"

Fraser nodded. "Yeah, in a couple of weeks. It shouldn't be too bad. I'll find a little place somewhere. It'll give me a chance to clear my head."

"Clear your head? In Chicago?" Turnbull took another sip of wine. "You know, there's a betting pool on to see how long you last down there."

"It's not like I have a lot of options."

Turnbull reached over and placed a kind hand on Fraser's. "I know, Ben. I'm sorry. Christ, I'm sorry. What they're doing to you...."

Fraser gave Turnbull's hand a quick squeeze, then reached over and poured the rest of the wine into their glasses. "It's not as if I'll be alone," he said. "Dief will be there, and Ray."

"Ray?"

"The detective who worked on my dad's case. Ray Vecchio."

Turnbull grinned slyly. "Cute?"

Fraser rolled his eyes. "Cop. And Italian, and very Catholic. But a friend, which I'll need pretty desperately, I think."

"Yeah," said Turnbull with a sigh. "And just when you need all the friends you can get, here I am taking off on you."

"Come on, Ren; we both knew your posting up here was only temporary. And it's not like we won't be able to communicate. I hear there are telephones in Chicago and everything."

Turnbull looked down at the table. "Ben...."

There was a long pause, then Fraser said, "Oh."

"It's only for a few months," Turnbull said softly. "Well, that's what they tell me. On special loan to CSIS."

"Renfield--"

"That's all I'm telling you, don't worry. Anyhow, as soon as I'm done, I'll give you a call. Maybe get myself posted to Chicago, too."

Fraser snorted. "The Force's youngest and brightest? I highly doubt you'll be shunted across the border."

Turnbull looked speculative. "There is such a thing as burnout. Maybe I'll need time to recover from a stressful mission."

There was a long pause, each man lost in thought. Then Turnbull drained his glass. "At least it'll be a change," he said. "God, I was getting tired of all this crap."

Fraser frowned. "The RCMP?"

"No, but the sameness of it all. Every day, it's the same thing: put on the uniform, maintain the right all day, come home, get pissed or get laid...."

"Yes, I can see how that could get monotonous."

"Don't pretend you don't know what I mean, Fraser."

"No, you're right," Fraser sighed. "But you're getting a change, at least. Something interesting. I don't imagine I'll be assigned anything more challenging than standing guard duty and filing reports."

"What about your cop friend?"

"Ray? He's already convinced that I'm nuts. Either that, or I'm Dudley Do-Right reincarnated."

"Don't tell me you pulled your Super-Mountie routine down there," Turnbull said with barely-concealed laughter.

Fraser smiled sheepishly. "The only thing on my mind was catching my father's killer as quickly and expeditiously as possible. I may have seemed... overzealous."

Turnbull smirked. "Super Mountie."

"Perhaps a tad over-competent."

"Super Mountie."

"Maybe a little over-the-top."

Turnbull arched an eyebrow.

"Oh, all right. Super Mountie," Fraser said. "I'm afraid Ray's in for a disappointment when I go back."

"Why?"

Fraser's eyes narrowed at Turnbull's wide grin. "What devious little scheme are you plotting?"

"Why disappoint your friend? He's expecting Super Mountie in a red coat and knee-high boots, so why not give it to him in spades?"

Fraser laughed. "Do you have any idea how crazy that is? Or how incredibly difficult it would be to pull off twenty-four-seven?"

"You were the one complaining a minute ago that you were going to be bored out of your skull. Consider it a challenge. All you have to do is stand up straight, help little old ladies across the street, maybe stop a purse-snatching or two...."

"You're certifiable, you know."

"It'll be fun," said Turnbull. Then his expression grew serious. "It'll keep your mind off Gerard. Keep you from feeling too homesick."

Fraser shook his head, but said, "Maybe you're right. Maybe a stint as The Mountie will let me forget about Ben Fraser's problems for a bit."

"Not for too long, though," Turnbull said, gripping Fraser's hand again. "I'll be there before you know it, and Chicago will have to deal with Ben and Ren together again."

Fraser grimaced. "A fate I wouldn't wish on any city. One uber-Mountie is enough, but two?"

"Who said anything about two? You think I'm not sick of being -- what was it you called me?"

"The best and the brightest, O humble one?"

"Exactly. I think it's time to give the old brain a break."

Fraser manfully bit back a giggle. "You mean...."

"Yup. You'll be Constable McPerfect and I'll be poor hapless, brainless, tasteless Turnbull. Proud defender of the Queen and hockey."

"No, not hockey -- curling!"

The apartment rang with peals of laughter. 

And so it was with a much lighter heart that Constable Fraser left once again for Chicago and, for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture, remained there. And Constable Turnbull, the unfortunate victim of a nervous breakdown after an undercover mission with the Canadian mob, joined him there several months later.

And what happened to them after that is another story altogether.


End file.
